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Baby Blues: The Calling

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

I’ve walked through this forest many times before.

Dressed in a form-fitting, light baby blue, long flowing dress, down to my ankles.

It’s long sleeve, but off both the shoulders.

Long red hair, messy and unkept, stretched down the middle of my back.

The rain pours down as I roam this mossy family of wood and green.

My dress soaked, nipples protruding through so delicate.

I hold the bottom of my flowy dress up with both hands as I’m running in slow motion,

Hair slapping the back of my shoulder blades.

Water trickles slowly down my cupid’s bow and drips down slowly on my bottom lip.

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com

I stop urgently right in a circle of trees, above their flourishing green branches

As I hear them call me to attention.

I’m alone here again as I have been many times before.

I kneel in shame, dress covering my feet and body now.

I sense their disappointment in my loneliness and newfound pain,

As they were never expecting me back before their graces in this position again.

A rush of wind tornadoes through this forest in an instant.

They bow to the power of it and in this instant, all of their branches turn brown and fall away,

Their beauty stripped from their bones.

And this forest goes dark, done with the likes of me.

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I am at once overcome with fear and heartbreak.

They have spoken their answers to me and left me there in my ruins.

A great lesson from my ancestry has rushed over me as even the night cicadas quiet.

As if a great respect falls across this entire forest in the finality of this demand passed from them

to me.

I slowly push off of the ground, head hung in complete defeat knowing the path I have laid before

myself.

I have put myself here in this position and won’t look away from what needs to be done.

A love.

A new feeling.

A path newly taken.

All fleeting and seemingly slipping right out of my fingers.

I keep my composure because I am not unfamiliar with losing things, or being without.

I am but a dark bird, a cast out angel with broken wings on a short journey through this world,

through this forest.

The news of my fellow tree’s advice has stricken me to tears as I walk slower than I ever have

Through this forest.

I walk slow to avoid facing what is on the other side of it. Facing the truth.

I can’t fathom where things seem to go wrong, but they do.

And the forest calls me here when it is time for the awakening that I need.

I have learned enough in this forest through the times that when I reach the edge of it,

I will do so with my head up, peeking forward.

I am but an entity full of many human mistakes.

An ora of nothing at times, quietly observing, hoping to be discovered so I can merely scream,

“Yes! It’s me! You have found me, and I am here, in full surrender!”

But for now, I walk slowly to the edge of this forest, feeting sinking into the most green moss

I have ever seen.

Wetness drying in an instant, and the horrible sun has hit my skin and taken my shield away.

Return I go to the shade along the treeline to protect the burning,

But it offers me no solice to the burning inside…….

I rip the bottom off of this dress weighting me down, along with the sleeves once

Draping off of these boney shoulders.

I walk now with a purpose. An answer. A goal. A path. A story continued..

I feel the wind at my back, pushing me forward.

And I go always where it blows me.

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com
Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com
Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com
Posted on by thetruthandtheliesofthejourney

Hug Me Mama

Hold me Mama,

I can’t hide anymore.

I’m scared and alone,

And my whole body’s sore.

Hug me tight,

I need every ounce of love and care,

Even though in the past I didn’t let you.

I’m saying out loud, it’s different now,

And I need all that you can spare.

Can I be little, just once more?

And let you brush my hair?

Let’s go to one more yard sale,

Drive up to a lookout and just stare.

Forgetting for even a moment,

The days ahead that will take up the room.

And all of the sadness, and most of all,

the darkness and gloom.

Hold me Mama.

I need you to see,

How beautiful I think you are,

And just how much you mean to me.

I forgive you Mama.

Can you forgive me?

For not seeing the sadness,

And the way you’ve grown weak in your knees?

Can you tell me you believe in me?

And I made you full of pride?

Even though I’ve accomplished nothing,

And couldn’t even make it as a bride?

Can you tell me stories of the times things were good?

Or tell me what’s gonna happen, if things don’t turn out the way they should?

Hug me Mama.

I need something, anything today.

Before the days slip away from us,

And all hope has gone array.

I love you Mama.

Sick or not, it will always ring true.

Even when I’m sad,

And tears stream down my baby blues.

I’m here Mama.

Still here, writing these words.

Struggling to drive to the store, and trying to focus,

As I take these sharp curves.

I just smiled and spit my drink Mama,

Thinking of all the times I’ve pranked you.

And how wrecked your nerves must be by now when I’m around,

Thinking I’m always near the corner,

Jumping out with airhorns, trying to get a rise or two.

I hope you’re well Mama.

I’m thinking of you today.

I love you Mama,

In every form, always and forever,

Yesterday and today.

Posted on by thetruthandtheliesofthejourney

Suppression of the Truth

Photo by Engin Akyurt on Pexels.com

I am oppressed by the absence of you. You are roaming around in my mind like an out of control ping-pong ball. You are stomping through my chest, ripping away at my heart. The silence is screaming in the mangled words that are forming on the paper in front of me. I can hear your voice echoing, “bye”, over and over, and the sliding of my vehicle skidding down the driveway.

We are but little blimps on the maps of this world. Given one time to try to float where we can. But selfishly, we waste it. Every one of us. We focus on things that fizzle out instead of miraculous opportunities that may be right in front of our noses.

Now, look at us, alone we sit. A very familiar place indeed. This is why the silence continues. The stubbornness of our enjoyment of loneliness. The inspiration of the sadness within it. I feel restless and incomplete. The incompetence of what people call relationships is a mystery to someone like me. For me, there’s an investment of time built around the knowledge and adventure a person can match with me. I ask nothing of them in a physical or financial sense on purpose. I want it to be an open book, not capable of resentment for miniscule things. No regrets. If it works, then a lifetime of hard-earned happiness has bred itself from a place of pure dedication and partnership. If it does not work, you move on, grateful for the company, new knowledge, and passion fueled by intrigue. You mend your broken heart over time with the same two feet you stood on, on your own. And you remember everything. Because a lesson is truly the most important tribute you can take with you throughout your entire life, even when the season with each person or adventure has passed.

Love is an equivalent to a broad-stroke of freedom from anchors in the water. The waves can break against you even while you smile with the wind in your hair. You weather through each of the rough patches, clinging to a balcony. And when you finally get still again, what remains is what is to move on to the next phase with you.

So, I’ll sit here in meditation. Pain or not. Because it’s not new to me. And when the waves are done breaking against me, and the air around me becomes still again, I will move to the next phase, whatever that may be, with what or who remains by my side. And no matter how difficult that may be or how that may look, I will be grateful for every presence that has crossed my path, and eternally grateful for the lesson that each one taught me. Because each one, uniquely woven, makes up some of the most magical notches on the most beautiful of Orion’s belts in my galaxy. And who could really frown on such a glorious sky?

Posted on by thetruthandtheliesofthejourney

Retribution (8-17-18)

woman wears black sleeveless top
Photo by Joy Marino on Pexels.com

Are you intrigued by the blood that drips from my teeth?

More than that that is pumping in my veins..
This constant siren within me, pulsating my hands to do these things that I can not control. The tiniest part of me that says, do not jump yet. For there is much still left to do.

Jump only when the last person has heard the piercing of the knife that slides in and out of this heart. Blackened like a fish on a plate, with spices.
Some would say this pain is intricately woven through my soul so beautifully. And they would even say that they could yearn for the spirit that comes from within it.

But it is only because they have not experienced the fullness of its wrath.
For if you ever let this pain sit atop you, and embrace you with its love, it will violently claw you open and find orgasmic pleasure in the spewing of your blood. Once you let it in this position of control, you can not stop it. Give it any amount of control, and there is no going back.

You have no idea the amount of dead places this pain breeds from.
Your God cannot save you from the inequities you have so contributed. And maybe your victim will burn along side you. For the hate you started inside.
There so be, burn, burn, burn. If there is no relief herein, where shall there be any?
I would not let go of this pain now if it was all but handed to me. For it is tattooed into me like beautiful scars cut with the sharpest of knives. And you will not also take this from me.
It is mine, just as your lonely death will be your own. They will bury it with me just as a priest with his cross. And only then, will I breathe a breath of rest….

Posted on by thetruthandtheliesofthejourney

Dress of Pain (5-17-18)

silhouette of man standing on grass field during night time
Photo by Simon Migaj on Pexels.com

Smile my dear, they say

As she peels her eyes open to another day.

Not girly, but her dress of pain,

flows around and around, and the anchors,

her train.

Bouncing around, arms in the air,

letting it all go,

rain falling on her face, going with the flow.

Waters full of chemicals, burning her skin, 

and people trying to reach and help her,

but she’s not letting them in.

Her body has turned against her,

sores and wounds lie open, and it bleeds

infected memories, filling her soul with

the blood of her past and until its emptied,

she’ll never truly be free.

Look at the crown of lovely, they place on her soft hair.

Try and cover the ugly.

Paint it up, brush it down, it just doesn’t seem fair.

Stop wishing she would come around, and

leave her where she lays.

She’ll either get up or die,

And it may not be today.

So, go on, move forward spinning,

she dances to that music too;

An anthem of the chaos,

that has always rang true.

Spinning round and round, in this dress of pain….